


contentment

by badbadnotgood



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbadnotgood/pseuds/badbadnotgood
Summary: “Dan,” Phil pipes up, “You know how Planet Earth screenings need absolute silence for the ambient sound and suspense?”





	contentment

“Dan,” Phil pipes up. “You know how Planet Earth screenings need absolute silence for the ambient sound and suspense?”

Dan doesn’t look up from his laptop screen. (They do, though. It’s a Phil Rule even though they spend their domestic life in mutual agreement, mostly, because Dan curls up at the other end of the couch like a man-shaped cat and reads Wikipedia for fun while Phil watches TV shows that Dan doesn’t feel like giving his full attention to.)

They have personal house rules even though they live as close as two can get to the same life, and do the same stuff, except when Dan wanders out for a walk and spots dogs that he texts Phil blurring photos of. Dan thinks the nit-picking is a human response to sharing your life with someone, especially someone as interesting as Phil.

He keeps tapping the space bar, though, but more quietly. He says, “I was meant to tell you the Internet died and the router needs turning off and on again, but you were mesmerised by the Chinese Softshell Turtles, so I accidentally hit 5000 on the Chrome game.”

“Are you—Stop playing the Dinosaur game!”

“Please fix it, I've sunken too far into the sofa." 

Phil laughs at him like this is a game, and looks down at the fur blanket swathed around Dan like it’s personally offending him. “I hate it when you buy new things. You go all dormant like a lizard in the winter.”

Planet Earth is paused on a raccoon dog in a lake and Phil’s somehow off the couch and bent around the TV sorting out the router.

“I share literally everything with you,” Dan says. “Sorry for not consulting you on this Next.co.uk decision. You can come snuggle with me, though, obviously.”

“Maybe,” Phil says stubbornly, but Dan knows he has him because he’s back on the sofa making himself comfortable.

Dan promptly hits a cactus and dies. He relaxes his knees from where they’re pressed near his chest and propping up his laptop, since he has no respect for his posture, and twists so he can throw his legs over Phil’s lap. Phil wraps a light hand around his ankle on instinct. “It’s becoming a regular occurrence since our connection is a ship heap.”

“When we move you’ll be able to get a good signal at the other end of the garden,” Phil says quietly, eyes on the screen. The thing about Phil is he’s always paying attention, always doing something to let Dan know he’s listening to every word even if he’s looking elsewhere. Right now the warmth of his hand on Dan’s ankle is enough, and Dan loves that. Loves Phil.

“We’ll have a perfectly good couch, and you want us to internet outside?”

“Well,” Phil considers. “I would like to take advantage of a garden, since we don’t have one here.”

Dan rests his laptop on the chair of the arm and shifts with his blanket to cuddle into Phil’s side. It’s cool and raining outside so one of them should probably turn the heating on, but effort. “Hmm. You want a pond? Some flower pots?”

“Yes!” Phil agrees, delighted. “And we can stack them on some wooden ladders. I saw that on Pinterest.”

Dan turns his head so his chin rests on Phil’s shoulder, and it looks uncomfortable for Phil when he tilts his head to look back at him, but his eyes drift to Dan’s mouth. “You’re secretly reading Pinterest for future house decorating ideas. It’s getting serious.”

Phil frowns, but he’s still smiling. “Getting? I thought we were at peak-seriousness since we have elaborate arguments and take turns making each other dinner.”

“Our big arguments are rare, though. And I’ll have you know they’re perfectly necessary,” Dan says, flicking Phil’s arm. “We don’t yell at each other for nothing.”

“There are times when I think we’re going to argue but you end up laughing or apologising to the point where I start laughing.”

“Yeah, because your bloody eyes go all big and sad and I feel awful.”

“That’s because I hate conflict. But it’s also kind of good, in a way. With us, I mean.”

“What, like cathartic?”

“Something like that. Like, you always put a lot of yourself into things you’re passionate about. I’m not saying us arguing is good but you always fascinate me when you vent. About other things as well.”

And Phil, he just says it like it’s nothing. Like, yeah, here’s the general consensus, here’s how it is, here’s how I feel about you and you may do what you please with this information. It still hikes up Dan’s nerves.

“Is this because I was formally reserved and feeble?” Dan asks him.

“Yeah. I love how confident you are now. I’ve always found you interesting.”

“You’re making me sound a lot cooler than the loser eighteen-year-old who fancied you before you literally knew I existed.”

“I don’t know. I still get those early-days feelings sometimes, like when we collapse on the couch after a night out and everything’s really warm. Or when we Facetime because you’re at the other side of the country.”

Dan gets that, the good nostalgia that makes his bones ache in the best way. He thinks back to when it was new and exciting and amazing, and it’s evolved into the most beautiful aspect of their relationship.

“You’re a real sap when we have Planet Earth on,” Dan mumbles, knowing Phil can hear the smile.

“We are having a moment. Accept that this is your life.”

“Love you,” Dan says, but it’s muffled by Phil’s chest.

“Oh yeah, I’m reeling the facts of our life and you play the ‘love you’ card, and I’m the sap.”

“It gets you, though. I will actually drop that on you at the most inconvenient of times from now on. When you run to Tesco for emergency mangoes? I’ll be on the line. When we’re organising bills? Then, too. You last lap on Mario Kart? Guess what.”

“What about during the most necessary time?”

Dan pretends to think about it, “Only if you’re hitting it good.”

“You’ve never complained before,” Phil says lowly.

Dan snorts, “You’re supposed to be outraged over me besmirching your good and pure nature programmes.”

“I can maintain both at the same time,” Phil tells him, kissing him wetly on the forehead.

"The cold air in this room just hit that single patch of wetness on my head, Phil,” Dan complains into his shoulder, eyes back on the TV.

“We should really put the heating on," Phil decides. "Do you want hot chocolate?”

“God, yes. And some of that leftover cheesecake.”

“That late night sugar rush,” Phil hums, untangling himself from Dan’s ridiculously long legs, standing up and leaning back in for a quick kiss, “You may stay here.”

Dan follows him into the kitchen anyway, having left the blanket on the couch and switched the heating on. He sits up on the worktop and watches Phil pour the milk and cocoa powder into mugs and feels a bit dizzy with contentment.

“It tastes nicer when you heat the milk on the stove instead of microwaving it,” Phil comments, sliding the milk back into the side of the fridge, “But we’re clearly desperate.”

“You can do it like that, if you want. I’ll wait.”

Phil smiles at him, “Nah, it’s alright. You want to grab a spoon?”

“Yeah,” Dan says.

They’re back in the living room, blanket over their legs and Taboo playing (a show Dan’s still warming Phil to), snug and curled up together. The standard Friday night in.


End file.
